


Underground

by xtricks



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-04
Updated: 2010-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser hated the corner he'd been driven to, forced to abandon his duty--only willing to do so because he recognized that his presence was endangering his friends--and flee back to a home he was not sure would welcome him. Diefenbaker whined a warning and Fraser lifted his head warily, but it was not a stranger who stepped out of the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Underground

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Hunter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/111736) by [xtricks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks). 
  * Inspired by [Hunter's Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/111738) by [xtricks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks). 



> Originally posted 5/15/2006. From the old due South generator: due South Plot Generator: Fraser is in the woods, waiting for something. I wrote three different stories, using the same prompt.

It was more than difficult to imagine Turnbull, of all people, as a lynchpin for the smuggler's network out of America. Yet, here Fraser was, waiting in the scrubby woodlands near the lake they called Michigan on Turnbull's promise that Fraser would be met by people of good-will and the courage to defy the Blood Families. Fraser hated the corner he'd been driven to, forced to abandon his duty--only willing to do so because he recognized that his presence was endangering his friends--and flee back to a home he was not sure would welcome him. Diefenbaker whined a warning and Fraser lifted his head warily, but it was not a stranger who stepped out of the shadows.

"Ray."

"Benny." This time, Ray wasn't wearing oversize silk in some vivid, distracting color and he had neither stumbled nor grumbled in the dark woods. In a smoke colored turtleneck he was a streak of darker dark in the night, strangely sinister. Fraser's breath caught in recognition and Ray's smile was bleak. "Yeah, you're not the only one with secrets."

"Why are you here?" Fraser asked as Dief shifted uneasily at his feet.

Ray shrugged, stepping closer, coming to an abrupt halt as Deif growled. "I'm a cop aren't I? A knight of the city. I got my job, Benny. I hear there's a crime going down here. You know anything about that?"

Fraser shook his head, not in deception but in denial. He couldn't speak. What could he say? Beg for his life? For his freedom? Asking for either would ask Ray to break the law. To remain silent was an injustice, for both of them. "What kind of crime, Ray?"

"Illegal emigration, Benny." Ray said. "There's some people trying to flee in violation of the law--"

"American law."

"Yeah and we're in America so here I am ..." Ray took another step closer, ignoring Dief's ratcheting growls. "and so are you, Benny. Why is that?"

Fraser lifted his chin. "I'm going home."

"Canada ain't your home, not really."

"I was born in Canada," Fraser snapped. "I'm a Canadian citizen!"

"And you were conceived in America, under a Family's sigil and that makes you ...."

"What Ray," Fraser hissed. "What does it make me? Property? Food?"

"A criminal, Benny." Ray said wearily. "A criminal."

"A human being. A free man. No one has accused me of any crime, nor convicted me."

"No. You're a ghoul, Benny, and it's not good for you to be away from a Family, everyone knows that. From your Family."

"You don't believe that."

Ray shrugged and Fraser sliced his hand angrily through the air. "You don't believe that Ray. You've worked with me for almost two years. You know me and those supposed weaknesses--"

"Christ, Benny, why the hell did you come here in the first place!"

"No one knew!" Fraser hissed. "No one knew, except my father and he--"

"Was dead."

"Ray, let me go."

Ray squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenched into pale fists. "They want you bad, Benny. They've been looking for you all your life. They need you Benny."

"So they say. I saw ... greed, Ray, nothing more. You know what they want from me and I ... can't. I can't accept that. Ray ...."

"Benny, you run away now and they'll just hunt you down."

"They won't catch me."

"Sure, sure, maybe not but you wanna spend the rest of your life running?"

"Better," Fraser said bitterly, "than the rest of my life in a cage."

"Yeah, and what do you even know about it?" Ray burst out. "You said yourself, you didn't even know you were a ghoul. This isn't the middle ages, Benny. No one is going to brand you. There are ghouls with their own businesses, teachers, writers ... leading active lives--."

"Only at the whim of their Families! There's more to it than the pretty pictures in the news. The propaganda!" Fraser stepped closer, stiff-legged and furious. "I've seen other ghouls--ones who escape to Canada, I know what they say, what they went through."

"Sure, guys who've run away and yeah, there's bad Blood everywhere and I'm not saying no one ever did some thing stupid or there's no assholes in the Families but your Family ... they're good people. I--I checked them out."

"Possibly. Even so, why should I give up my life for them, Ray? My career, my freedom, my home. If things are so pleasant, Ray, in the Families, why do they have hunters like you to track me down and drag me back?"

"So, here's the Mountie asking me to break the law?"

"I"m asking...I'm asking you for justice, Ray," Fraser was suddenly tired, as weary and as miserable as Ray looked. "That's all, just the same justice any man should have."

"You're not any man--"

Ray staggered suddenly, eyes wide in the dark. Fraser leapt forward to catch him as he crumbled, the sudden smell of blood strong in the night. "Dief, no!" Fraser cried desperately as the wolf leapt towards the moving shadows at the edges of the trees.

"For god's sake, drop him and come on!"

"Who are you!"

"Who do you think! Come on--where there's one of them, there's others."

Fraser could see now, the men in the trees, dressed in grubby overalls with crossbows in their hands. The Underground, come to rescue him. "No," he said numbly. "He came alone. He trusted me."

"Whatever you say. You want across the border? Then come on."

Fraser could feel blood seeping hot over his hand and the shaft of an arrow, protruding from Ray's back. He could feel, as well, the faint whistle of breath against his skin. Ray was still alive, barely. For such a thin man, Ray was suddenly heavy, pulling Fraser to his knees as the horror set in. Ray was dying in his arms, because of him. Fraser shook his head, tightening his grip on Ray. "No. I can't leave. Not now."

One of the men raised his crossbow and Fraser watched him dully. It seemed only just, to die at their hands, felled by the same weapon that had taken Ray down. But, no, his companion jerked him back. "Don't be stupid!" and the two of them faded back into the shadows.

Fraser dismissed the smugglers, and any hope of freedom, and bent his head to touch Ray's white cheek. "Ray...."

Amazingly, Ray's eyes blinked open, luminous in the dark. He turned his head weakly on Fraser's arm. "What're you ... doing sitting here... Benny?"

"Ray," Fraser whispered urgently. "You've been shot--"

"I ... figured that out."

"Are you--are you a dhampire, Ray?" It was a hopeless hope, but it was the only thing that might save Ray's life. The fact that Ray had been sent after him, that Ray seemed so different in the night, was the only thing that made Fraser ask. He'd never seen any sign, before, that Ray might carry Family blood but no one had ever recognized Fraser's ancestry either. "Ray!"

"Hmm--go on, Benny," Ray pushed weakly at him, eyes fluttering closed. "Get out of here."

"No." Fraser shifted Ray as gently as he could, though Ray groaned anyway. He pressed a finger into Ray's mouth, searching frantically along the gumline. Ray jerked like he'd been shocked, kicking weakly at the ground and tugging without strength at Fraser's probing hand. But Fraser found what he was looking for, swelling above Ray's eye-teeth, venom glands and a second set of canines; they would be retractable and needle sharp. "Ray, thank god," Fraser said hoarsely, smoothing a hand over Ray's high forehead in relief.

Ray's eyes blinked open, bright and furious and he tried to struggle free with surprising strength. Fraser tightened his grip. "Not on your life, Benny!"

"No," Fraser breathed, fishing along his Sam Browne for his knife and laying Ray against his knees. "On yours."

The steel flashed bright in the half-moon, the end of the life Fraser had known. His hands shook as he threw his uniform aside and tore away the sleeves of his Henley. When he drew the edge along his arm, Ray groaned, a raw sound and Fraser could hear the hunger in it, even as Ray turned his face away from the blood running swiftly down Fraser's skin. "Ray."

"No!" Ray gasped. He clawed at the ground, trying, impossibly, to drag himself away. But he was too weak and as Diefenbaker danced around them both, whining anxiously, Fraser gently gathered his friend up in his arms.

"Ray," he murmured gently, pressing his bleeding arm against Ray's stubborn mouth. "Drink."

Ray's eyes were bright and furious but he breathed once ... twice ... then Fraser could see the instinct uncoil in him, see the way his eyes went dark and hungry and the drive to live overcame Ray's resistance. He felt Ray's mouth open against his skin and Fraser had to stifle his own reflexive jerk, hissing through clenched teeth as he felt the hard, sucking pull as Ray finally began to feed.

It should have hurt. It didn't. Fraser knew it was the venom and his own unique ancestry but all he felt was a welling, languid warmth, like sinking into a welcoming hot spring, like an unexpected patch of sunlight warming him in a dark winter's day. Despite himself, and the danger, Fraser's eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back, grip tightening on Ray's shoulders as he held Ray close, heart thudding faster and faster, driving his pulse, his blood into an act of deadly, life giving sacrifice. He never wanted it to end.

In the end, it was neither Ray's nor Fraser's self control that saved him but Diefenbaker, dancing in increasing distress around them both finally bowled into them, knocking Ray away from Fraser and sending them both sprawling half-conscious onto the ground.

END (5/15/06)


	2. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 5/19/2006. I have to admit this is not a complete work. The first chapter, however, can stand on its own.

Fraser woke to the familiar white walls of a hospital but when he glanced to the chair beside his bed, it wasn't Ray sitting there but a familiar young woman--Stephanie Cabot. Fraser closed his eyes for a moment, her presence here meant only one thing.

"Ms. Cabot." He said, surprised at the dry rasp of his throat, then recalling why. Blood loss, of course.

"I think Stephanie is a better idea, don't you ... Benton?" She was smiling tentatively, leaning towards him hopefully.

Fraser opened his eyes again and stared at her with a certain amount of dislike before recalling his manners and smoothing his features. "I prefer Ms. Cabot." He said hoarsely.

"Are you thirsty? Do you ... want some water?"

"Thank you--" Fraser tried to sit up and was brought up short by the soft restraints on his wrists. He jerked at them once, startled, before glancing back at Stephanie whose smile was tremulous now. "What are these for?"

She leaned forward with a plastic cup and straw and Fraser twisted his face away. "Please Benton--"

Fraser gritted his teeth, flexing his wrists against the restraints and taking stock of the room he was in. It was a hospital setting, though he suspected now it was no standard hospital. Not with a vampire sitting in a chair next to an injured and restrained man. His arm was sore and bandaged and there was a grate on the window where the blue-violet sky suggested late twilight.

"--or Ben?" Stephanie was saying uncertainly. "Drink something."

"Why am I restrained?"

She sat back unhappily, holding the cup in her hands, twisting it back and forth in her lap. "I know you're not happy ... with this whole thing, Benton. But I think we can get on so well! You understand me, you can ride--you understand the horses, I need help with that."

"I'm not a ranch hand, Ms. Cabot, I'm an officer of the law." He pulled at the restraints again, staring at her until her eyes fell away from his.

"Until we're sure you're not going to try something--"

"Stupid?" Fraser smiled pleasantly. "No, nothing stupid."

"We're just worried about you!"

"Of course we are."

"I am!"

Fraser sat there, trapped in a bed while the woman who wanted to spend the rest of her life feeding from him stared earnestly at him. "Ms. Cabot, your horses, how many of those horses you rescue can your ride?"

"Ride?" She looked taken aback, then collected herself. "Oh, most of them. Some ... they never really adjust to the ranch, the older ones--they've been wild all their lives--you can't ride them."

"Yes."

Stephanie Cabot stared at him, blonde hair falling around her pretty face while the silence grew long. Finally she spoke, mouth set, hands white around the pink plastic cup. "I dream of a perfect world for my horses sometimes, Benton. I imagine I could let all the horses run free, wherever they wanted. But this isn't a perfect world is it? If I let them go, they'd be rounded up, sold to the highest bidder, strung up struggling on a hook and their throats cut!"

She set the plastic cup on the side table with a sharp click and stood, looking down at him. "I'll come back tomorrow."

Fraser watched her go, then switched his attention to the cup, cracked now, as it leaked a slow stream of water off the edge of his table, just out of reach.


	3. Underground

Of course, Stephanie Cabot came back the next day, though Fraser registered passing time mostly between long bouts of exhausted sleep alternating with worry about Ray--had he survived? Dief--where was he? And, though he tried to force it aside--himself. He endured an hour of stilted pleasantries, as Stephanie tried to draw him out, and he tried--with courtesy due any young woman--to keep send her away, before she left again, after dark.

Exhausted, Fraser closed his eyes against the fluorescent light he could not turn off--he was still restrained--and waited for sleep. Heavy footsteps woke him, familiar and completely unexpected. "Leftenant?"

"Ah, Constable, good to see you." Welsh frowned at his wrists. "Though not the way I'd prefer."

"Nor I, sir."

"No, so I've been led to believe." The leftanant sat down in Stephanie's vacated chair with a heavy sigh. "Quite some trouble you've found for yourself, no one is quite sure what to do with you."

"I can make some suggestions."

Welsh chuckled before his face settled into the usual heavy, suspicious lines. He met Fraser's eyes, gaze sharp and full of warnings. "I've been given to understand, and perhaps you have not, that you're recovering very well from the attack by anti-vampire terrorists. You nearly bled to death before one of Chicago's finest was led to your rescue by a deaf half-wolf."

"Terrorists?"

"Yes," Welsh said firmly. "Terrorists. They're everywhere these days."

"Ah. Yes, I gather they are." Fraser fidgeted restlessly. "Leftanant ..."

"Ray Vecchio, your unofficial former partner received a commendation--" Welsh's voice was heavy with something Fraser thought could be irony or contempt. "For his part in your rescue. That hasn't lightened his case load any, alas."

"I'd like to say I will be returning to unofficial duty soon," Fraser said, staring down at his restricted wrists. "But I don't anticipate that possibility."

Welsh cleared his throat. "As to that, Constable, the diplomatic and legal complications resulting from your situation will be keeping lawyers in expensive cars for years to come."

"And what is my status ... legally?"

Welsh looked sour. "The Cabot's have clear record of your ... conception, a ghoul bred under their auspices. On the other hand the Canadian government has--quite vocally--pointed out your Canadian citizenship, your years of service and, of course, your work here in America. However, a bird in the hand, Constable, is a very persuasive legal argument."

"The Cabots."

"Are a well known Family of the Blood with a good reputation. Hardly a parking ticket among them and Stephanie Cabot is well know for her philanthropy."

"That's been pointed out to me previously, thank you, Leftanant."

Welsh shifted and scowled at him but Fraser didn't feel terribly repentant. He certainly didn't want anyone to forget that, underneath the thick layer of propaganda and myth about ghouls, was a man Welsh knew well. A man quite competent to manage his own life. "Unless something changes significantly, you're likely to remain in the Cabot's hands."

"I see." Fraser licked his lips, sliding one desperate glance at Welsh and catching a moment of sympathy that he sincerely hoped would be transformed into some useful actions once Welsh left. "Leftenant, I do want to note that I am here against my will. I do not want to be Ms. Cabot's ... dinner card and I have committed no actual crime."

"I understand that, Constable, but what constitutes a crime for someone like you ...." Welsh pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "And I can tell you that there are forty-one open cases being neglected even as we speak, while one of my best detectives pursues other interests."

Fraser swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment in sheer relief. "I hope to be able to repay you, one day."

Welsh only grunted again and shrugged into his jacket. "It's a pity you didn't get a good look at any terrorists while you were out there, Constable, that certainly puts a halt to any attempt to find the suspects who attacked you."

"Indeed it does."


	4. Underground

Three days after his capture, Fraser was scheduled for transfer to the Cabot estate. By then, he was more the grateful to see something beyond the white walls of his hospital room. While the orderlies had been polite enough, he'd had about as much control over his situation as a dog in a kennel. He'd seen no one besides Stephanie Cabot and the hospital staff since Welsh's late night visit; he wondered how Welsh had gotten in to see him at all.

"Ready to go?" Stephanie asked, sticking her head in the door with a smile and startling Fraser out of a wishful longing for the safety of his home.

"Very much so," Fraser said, zipping up windbreaker he'd been provided with. His clothes were missing, of course and he was positive that everything he wore was property of the Cabot's--as he himself was. Technically.

"It's going to be great finally getting out of here," Stephanie was saying, tucking a hand under Fraser's elbow. "We're going out the back...."

He and Stephanie Cabot had come to a truce of sorts. She didn't talk about their wonderful future together and he didn't act like he was standing guard outside the Consulate. That did mean Fraser was able to garner little information about the Cabot's plans for him, aside from Stephanie's obvious presence. It also meant he still had no real idea, beyond Welsh's brief visit, what had happened after he'd lost consciousness. He was glad to know Ray was still alive and perhaps working on some sort of rescue but frustrated by his inability to do anything. He and Stephanie talked about horses, mostly. Stephanie Cabot was, he had been forced to admit, a nice young woman--just on the burgeoning edge of her transformation--and, though she never spoke of it, Fraser had no doubt she was frightened.

Fraser let Stephanie steer him down the hallway, even now, she was significantly stronger than he was and he could only maintain what little dignity he had by avoiding any overt physical confrontation between them. Stepping outside into the late afternoon drizzle was like a little taste of freedom, until the reporters rushed towards them like a plague of locusts.

_"Ms. Cabot, just a moment!"_

And, _"Who's getting the reward for retrieving your ghoul?"_

_"Or, Is your father going to ..?"_

"I can't ... " Fraser heard Stephanie whisper. She had her hand up to ward of the faint sunlight, flinching violently at the pop of camera lights, and she shrank against his side. He put his arm reflexively around her, warding off the first wave of cameras, with a sweep of his hand and a penetrating "Excuse me, coming through!" Until they met with a wide shouldered black man who buffered aside the crowd and they could climb into the silver mercedes waiting at the curb. There was already a driver at the wheel and their bodyguard hopped quickly into the front seat as the driver started the engine. Stephanie huddled against Fraser, her hands pressed to her eyes. This close, Fraser could feel how thin she was and smell her--odd, not human, but not ... unpleasant.

"Ms. Cabot," he said, trying to ease her away. She clutched at his blood red windbreaker and shook her head violently. The car surged away from the hospital (if that's what it had ever been) with the roll of expensive suspension. "Stephanie--"

"I'm going to be sick," she said in a small voice. Glancing around, Fraser grabbed the first thing that came to hand, an ice bucket, and bent her hurriedly over it with a hand at the back of her neck. She vomited in a brief, fierce paroxysm and Fraser nearly gagged himself at the foul reek. When she seemed to be done, slumping against his knees, Fraser cranked down the window and threw the bucket onto the street, hoping savagely to bespatter one of the odious newspaper reporters. He held stiff and uneasy, hands hovering above Stephanie's shivering shoulders without touching her. The tinted glass between the front and back seat rolled down.

"I think Ms. Cabot is ill," Fraser leaned forward to catch the attention of the bodyguard. "We should return to the hospital."

But the man shook his head. "They can't do anything for her. She shouldn't have come out so early in the day--" the man's eyes were unkind as he looked at Fraser. "She's too old for that."

"I'm fine," Stephanie said from Fraser's lap, eyes still tightly shut. "I'm fine!"

"Ms. Cabot--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake will you call me Stephanie already!" She cried furiously. "Whether we like it or not, you're going to be spending the rest of your life with me!"

Fraser stiffly took out a folded paper towel, all he had for a handkerchief, and offered it too her. "Ms. Cabot."

"Oh, dammit," she whispered, snatching the towel from his hands and pushing away from him to slump against the other side of the car. "I hate you."

The rest of the ride was silent.

By the time they arrived at the Cabot estate, just outside the city limits, in one of the great swaths of groomed wilderness that the Blood Families maintained for hunting, it was full dark. Stephanie seemed well recovered though no more inclined to talk to Fraser. As soon as the car pulled up to a rather astonishing mansion, she climbed out, slamming her door and stalked off without a word. Fraser followed slowly, looking speculatively around.

He'd been on the preserves before, pursuing justice or--on a few occasions--taking advantage of their isolation to touch up Dief's hunting skills. It had been a different preserve--the Warfield's--where he'd been scheduled to meet the Underground and had ended up nearly costing Ray his life instead. He'd never been deep enough in to see the homes of any Blood Family, though. Vampires protected their privacy fiercely--trespassing on a preserve could still cost you your life--and few humans had any desire to disturb them anyway. The fact that Stephanie Cabot left her family estate at all, and interacted with humans on a regular basis, was assumed to be due to her very young age and her father's indulgence in her horse rescue efforts. With a house like the one Fraser was looking at now, he could easily see why Blood Families never bothered to leave; it was as large as some villages Fraser had been stationed at back in the Yukon.

"Mr. Cabot wants to see you," the bodyguard said grimly. "And keeping him waiting is stupid."

"Of course," Fraser answered and they struck off at an angle around the building until they came upon a good sized and still active stable. A tall, hawkish looking older man with faded blond was waiting for them, watching Fraser approach with a heavy, measuring gaze that set the hackles rising at the back of his neck. This man was a full vampire, no child like Stephanie, and he had an erect carriage that reminded Fraser of his grandfather--the posture of a man who'd lived in an age when a military bearing was drilled into all young men.

"Mr. Cabot," Fraser said politely. He didn't bother with any pleasantries, as this wasn't a pleasant meeting.

"Benton, they call you, correct?"

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP." Fraser said, folding his hands behind his back. "I came to Chicago on the trail of the killers--"

"Benton," Mr. Cabot interrupted, seeming to test the word. "Rather old fashioned, not what I had planned for you. I wanted something to match my Stephanie. I chose her name because it's modern."

"Benton is my father's middle name," Fraser said evenly.

Cabot gave him a thin, close-lipped smile. "Not really. But it'll do well enough, I suppose."

Fraser jerked his chin up angrily, ready as the vampire approached. But Cabot only circled him, looking him up and down pensively.

"I've been looking into your years away from us," he said, as if Fraser had only taken a brief visit down the street rather than been born and raised in an entirely different country. "And I must say, I'm very impressed, Benton, very pleased. You're a strong, fit, intelligent young man. You look sturdy ... " the vampire breathed deep. "You're healthy. A suitable match for my daughter--" Cabot smiled again, this time without malice and with a great deal of pride. "It may not show but she's stubborn as a mule."

"I have noticed that," Fraser said.

"Good," Cabot's teeth, oversized, flashed in the stable's floodlights. "Good. She needs someone strong."

I thought it good we meet each other, Benton, though I won't see you often. You belong to my daughter and I don't want her worrying about that," Cabot circled Fraser again, silent and predatory on the gravel. "I never imagined I'd have a child. You understand ... it's no simple matter for a vampire to breed and in my strongest years--my people were hunted down like animals. Not conducive to reproduction, Stephanie is my first surviving child. My heir."

"I know the feeling very well, Mr. Cabot," Fraser said sharply, turning his head to follow Cabot's pacing. "Having a recent experience with being hunted like a beast, myself."

The vampire's leap was so swift, Fraser never even registered it. He was slammed violently down onto his knees, gravel biting into his palms, with Cabot's long hand squeezing the back of his neck hard enough to make the bones of his spine grate warningly. Fraser tried uselessly to surge up, twisting like a fish, but Cabot's hand was a vise, forcing him down until Fraser's forehead was pressed against the gravel at the vampire's freshly polished leather loafers. Fraser coughed in the dust.

"In my younger years," Cabot was saying softly, conversationally, in Fraser's ear. "You'd have been bent squalling like a fat calf over a branding board for my mark when you were five." His breath was cool, chilling the sweat on Fraser's neck. "And eating from my daughter's hand like a dog."

"But--" Cabot released Fraser with a casual shove that bowled him over onto his side. "This is today and today my daughter can walk the city streets and vote like a citizen and I don't have to worry about my family home being burned around my ears by hysterical peasants with torches." He stared pensively at Benton for a long moment. "A little indulgence for my ghouls is a small price to pay for such privileges."

He seemed to fade away into the darkness around the lit stables, growing vague and faint despite Fraser's best efforts to keep watch on him. His voice echoed in a wispy warning in Fraser's ears. "Take good care of my daughter, Benton."


	5. Chapter 5

Fraser had a room of his own, he discovered. The Cabot mansion was impressive; mahogany paneled walls, persian carpets worn with age, heavy drapes with gold brocade and a glittering crystal chandelier the size of a small car dangling high above the marble floored grand entrance. The bodyguard abandoned Fraser in the entry way, to a severe looking middle aged woman dressed in a slightly archaic housekeeper's uniform. Fraser felt like he'd stepped into a Masterpiece Theatre presentation.

"Ser," she said. "Please follow me. Your room is in the family wing." Her tone of voice suggested that his room should be in the barn. "Miss Cabot is resting."

At a loss, suddenly unguarded and alone except for one older woman, Fraser followed her, hands shoved into his pockets to hide his bleeding palms. It wouldn't do to forget that Mr. Cabot was outside in the dark somewhere, it was clear that any escape attempts would have to happen in the relative safety of daylight.

The family wing was not buried in the basement, nor backing against some eerie graveyard but on the third of four stories--but it was behind a very advanced, very sophisticated high security door. The housekeeper in her old English dress, swiped a card key through the lock at the side before striding through. Fraser was very aware, as the door whispered shut behind him, that he had no such card.

"The private parlor," she said, nodding at a closed door in passing. "The gaming room, the library--" Fraser marked that door. "Miss Cabot's study....."

The hallway widened to a gallery, where portraits ranged halfway down the walls. Stephanie's father featured in more than one, with clothing styles that ranged all the way back to what Fraser recognized as the Renaissance period. Cabot looked grim in all of them, though in two he was accompanied by a striking woman wearing rich, bloody red velvet, often sitting at his feet with her hands in his; Cabot's ghoul. Fraser wondered if she was still alive. Ghouls, so it was said, lived longer than normal humans but Fraser had no idea if they--he--could approach the immortality of vampires.

His father was standing at the end of the hall, admiring one of the pictures.

"Not ideal," he said as Fraser came even with him. Stephanie Cabot smiled from the portrait in adolescent enthusiasm. "But still--grandchildren aren't entirely out of the running, don't you think?"

"Can't you think of anything else!" Fraser hissed. The housekeeper's back stiffened visibly.

"Well, mustn't stop thinking of the future simply because it looks grim, Son."

Fraser growled under his breath and marched after the housekeeper.

"You room, Ser."

"Thank you kindly."

The woman waited until Fraser stepped inside and he heard a lock engage when the door shut. Sighing, he gingerly slipped out of the red windbreaker and went exploring.

His 'room' was a suite and larger than his previous apartment. The sitting room came with a small fireplace a desk, some empty shelves, two comfortable chairs, a chess set, but no phone, no TV, and windows that were designed to open only a few inches. One door opened into a pleasant enough bedroom, also relatively plainly furnished and from there a bathroom where Fraser cleaned his hands--there was an extensive first aid kit in the bathroom, which was unpleasantly suggestive of his future. He wondered sourly if they had a stash of his blood type somewhere in this mansion and realized, uncomfortably, that they probably had designed his blood type along with everything else.

The other door in his bedroom was locked from the other side.

Fraser quickly exhausted the options on the rooms, noting the edges of the metal security shutters in the top of the windowsills, the fire suppression equipment in the cream plastered ceilings and other highly advanced safety equipment. Mr. Cabot was clearly prepared for any number of hysterical peasants with torches, modern day or no. He was lying on the bed, wondering if his father was going to build a cabin any of these closets when there was a soft knock on the unknown locked door in his bedroom.

"Yes?" he sat up as Stephanie slipped into the room. Of course, her rooms adjoined his, to make it easier for her. Fraser quirked his brows wryly. He was conveniently located for late night snacking. Stephanie looked quite unhappy and she turned a small cardboard box in her hands.

"Benton, we need to talk."

"All right."

"Is it really so terrible, being ... with me?" She asked wistfully.

"With you," Fraser swung his legs off the bed then stopped to gather himself, swallowing down his anger. "Spending a morning riding with you? Of course not. Your company? Your conversation? No. But that isn't what we're talking about is it? With you...."

The rest of my life in exile? A prisoner? Your food?" Fraser shook his head. "No, I do not want to be with you in that fashion."

"You aren't a prisoner--"

"Then why do the locks on my doors only work on the outside, Ms. Cabot?"

"Because you'd run away," she cried in frustration. Then she buried her face in her hands, "No, no" she breathed slowly, clearly gathering herself. "We're not doing it this way again."

Stephanie sat down beside him on the bed and smoother her hair back deliberately. "Benton, I need your help." she said. "I'm too old to live on horses and pigs any more, I'm nearly thirty. I'll never get stronger, if I keep feeding off animals."

Fraser scraped an uneasy fingernail over his eyebrow. He didn't want to hear this because refusing to help someone ... but the cost was too high. "There are many people who'd be ... honored to help you in the fashion you need."

"Human beings," she said. "Not ... not like you. You were made for this." Fraser stiffened and Stephanie grabbed his wrists holding him down easily.

"Listen to me! I don't care if you don't want to hear it!" She snapped then hurried on. "You were made for this. A vampire can't infect a ghoul, you'll never become a nosferatu--a monster. What do you think would happen to us--my family, my father, the other blood Families--if I started an epidemic here in Chicago? If I feed from regular humans ... I don't know what I'm doing yet ... think about the risks, Benton. You're supposed to protect them."

Frasr turned his face aside, gritting his teeth. A nosferatu free in a large city could start an epidemic of it's kind; the Hutu genocide would pale in comparison. "Aren't there other ghouls?"

Stephanie threw up her hands and Fraser rubbed pressure points on his wrists until he could feel his fingers again. "No! We can't just ... decant ... ghouls by the dozen. I don't even know how it's done--my father says you have to be old, Benton, very old, to create a ghoul. If your mother hadn't run away there might have been others."

Siblings, Fraser realized. Other children of his mother, all created to serve vampires. "But she did." For love, Fraser hoped. Love and freedom for her children. For him.

"Is it so different from any other duty?" Stephanie said softly. "Standing guard outside that Consulate like a stuffed doll. Is that more ... respectful? You side you were in exile here, is this a different exile, really?"

At least Inspector Thatcher wasn't trying to eat him. Generally. "Ms. Cabot--"

"Benton, please--at least try."

"All right," he said. "All right ... Stephanie."

She pushed the box into his hands. "This is yours."

Fraser opened it, revealing a slim brushed steel band, sized to fit his wrist with the Cabot's sigil etched into the metal. He took it out, turning it in his hands. Decorative, he supposed, but not it's primary purpose. Ownership--and it had a battery inset in the band. "I don't generally wear jewelry."

"If you want to get out of these rooms, you will." She shrugged and took it from him. "For one thing, you're sort of a target for the other Families who need a ghoul. We don't want to lose you ... in any fashion."

"Understood."

Fraser didn't resist as Stephanie Cabot slipped the cold metal band onto his wrist and locked it there. It was, he supposed, better than a brand.

She didn't release his hands, her grip tightening as she took a sharp breath. "You're bleeding."

Fraser went very still, hearing a note in Stephanie's voice, not concern--fascination.

"I fell and scraped my hands."

She turned them palm up, where a thread of blood streaked the heel of his palm. Her tight grip had broken the new scab and fresh blood welled up. Fraser sat very still and reminded himself that, though Stephanie was in no immediate danger of death, she was as desperate as Ray had been. Could he do less for her than he had for Ray? He wished he had the option. Stephanie must have sensed something her eyes flashed up to his, pupils wide and black, the normal blue of her iris so pale it was silver.

"You promised you'd try," she whispered. Fraser nodded stiffly and Stephanie lifted his palms to her lips.

A touch as soft as a kiss, at first, and her blonde hair fell like a ticklish curtain around his hands. She licked his palm, an eerie sensation, unpleasantly intimate--followed immediately by a faint flush of warmth. Venom. When she bit the small wound, making it bleed more profusely, Fraser gasped but not in pain.

Stephanie released him in a moment, lifting a dreamy face from his hand, a smudge of blood on her chin. "I just wanted to taste you, Benton," she breathed. "See? It didn't feel bad, did it?"

"No." Fraser said. "No."

After Stephanie left, Fraser sat for a long while in the dark, hand closed into a lose fist. The echo of her touch remained, a vague warm tingle in the palm of his hand, for hours.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, this is as far as I went with this story.

The howl of a dog and a wolf are as similar as, say, Portuguese and Spanish--despite decent from a common ancestor, they were no longer brothers. So, when Fraser's horse shuddered between his thighs, half-rearing at the eerie, rising howl from the forest that began just beyond the split rail fence of the outmost pasture, he knew the canine voice to be neither wolf nor dog. He stiffened in his saddle, hands clenching on the reins as he scanned the green shadows of the trees beyond the fence. "Dief," he breathed, hope knotting his throat and making his breath jump. He wanted to howl back, as they'd done years ago when Dief had been a puppy, learning each other's language. He wanted to howl and goad the nervous gelding under him into a gallop, to fly over the fence, breathe the free air beyond the borders of the Calbot estate.

Instead he gentled his hands on the reins, patted the horse's sweaty neck--one of Stephanie's mustang rescues--and turned his back on the forest and the secrets within it.

"You're good." Jackson said.

"I am?" Fraser glanced over at Stephanie's bodyguard, the man who'd braved the reporters two weeks ago, and had also witnessed Fraser's introduction to Mr. Calbot. He turned out to be an excellent horseman and, in the daylight hours Stephanie could no longer enjoy, kept Fraser occasional company.

Jackson nodded at the horses, Fraser's was already settling despite the wolf-like howls still rising into the air. Jackson's horse was sidestepping nervously, dun coat darkening with fear sweat. "With the horses."

"Perhaps," Fraser said, his horse tossed his head nervously but stood steady under him. "But they know their enemies. Cabot allows feral dogs to run on his property?"

"Wolves." Jackson corrected. "The families are part of the wild wolf reintroduction project. They let the Feds introduce wolves, deer ... moose even to their property. So long as they Feds don't complain about the occasional missing deer when somebody's feeling peckish."

"Indeed." Fraser stroked the neck of his horse again, feeling the small scars that ran up the large vein in the animal's neck.

"They don't come close to the estates," Jackson squinted uneasily towards the forest. "Never even heard them before."

Fraser twisted to give one last look back. "No doubt a newcomer exploring the territory. He'll realized where the top predators live soon enough."

Jackson grinned briefly, white teeth flashing in the sunset. "Better, or Mr. Cabot will make a meal of it."

"I didn't know ... vampires would feed from other predators."

"I don't know about any of the others," Jackson said with a shrug and a sidelong glance towards Fraser. "But Mr. Cabot does as he pleases."

"I'll keep that in mind." Fraser said.

"Now you're starting to get smart." Jackson said, turning his horse back towards the distant stables. "C'mon, it's getting dark."

Fraser followed Jackson's dun mare, as they let the horses break into an eager canter. He'd learned, in his time at the estate, that no one--no _human_\--stayed out of doors after nightfall. The stablehands slept above the horses but never went into the stables after dark. There had been a few nights when Fraser had been drawn to his window by fearful whinnies, he'd seen nothing but shadows and there'd been no movement from the stablehands apartments.

The mansion--the people in it--was it's own little community and Fraser had been making himself useful, as best he could. He took on exercising some of the more rowdy horses and learned the names of the three young men who tended the animals for Stephanie; Ramon, Sven and Willis. Jackson played backgammon and was grateful for a new opponent. Fraser had even earned a brief look of gratitude from the housekeeper--Ms. Flemming--by simply keeping his room tidy and his requests simple. He'd discovered, as Stephanie's ghoul, he had an expense account (and nothing he cared to spend it on) and been visited by the Cabot family's broker. Everyone he'd met had been intelligent, skilled and careful to never ask Fraser any awkward questions about consent. Fraser marveled at everyone's skill at pretending they simply worked for a rich, eccentric family, instead of a predator that had no doubt killed hundreds of people in his lifetime.

"Thank you kindly for the company," Fraser said to Jackson as they walked back to the mansion, Jackson in broken down jeans while Fraser was in red--from the long sleeved T-shirt to the blood red, brand new jeans and windbreaker. All his clothes, now, were red--it was worse than his serge. It was also a sign, to any who knew, that he was a ghoul. "The hours here ... can run long."

"I can get that," and there, Fraser detected a hint of something that might be guilt or sympathy, just before Jackson cleared his throat and gave Fraser a thumbs up before splitting off to go to his rooms. "See you for a game tonight?"

"Of course." Fraser said and turned to his own suite.

He'd had time to make a few changes. There were books, borrowed from the library, on his shelves and a small stack of firewood next to the fireplace. The heavy curtains had been tied back to allow the daylight in and he kept the bedroom window open a crack for the fresh air. Otherwise, like his clothes, everything had been selected for him and his new place in life. He shed the windbreaker (which had been joined by a heavier red wool coat recently) and laid a quick fire in the hearth. Then it was back to the books; he'd discovered a whole shelf of well thumbed 'blood romances' some with Stephanie's name scrawled in on the cover--with little hearts dotting the 'i's, suggesting that these books had been an adolescent fancy. They were terrible and fascinating; small press books--hand bound--meant for the Blood Families and their rare children. Overblown romantic drivel, is what his grandmother would have said and it was startling to realize that vampires were no more immune to fantasies of true love and tragic passion than humans. The different was, instead of men and women, it was vampire and ghoul (or occasionally, usually tragically, human). It certainly gave Fraser a better idea of what Stephanie hoped for when she looked at him the way she did.

Passionate Fires had led Fraser, along with the vampire protagonist, through ancient Rome, medieval Europe (and he did have to admit that the historical accuracy of these books far outstripped most romance fiction) to Calvinist England and the discovery of his heart linked ghoul--reincarnated as a young noblewoman.

_"...the bloom of fresh blood on her wrist, held to me, filled the air with the scent of wine and roses. "Drink, and live, my lord." she said and how could I refuse her? So, I bent my head to her command and surrendered to the passions that burned within us both. Crimson fireworks exploded through my veins, I could taste Sana's heart--her love--in the blood that brought life back to my desiccated soul. "_

Fraser set the book on his knee thoughtfully. He certainly hoped no fireworks, of any color, exploded in either Stephanie or himself but it did make him wonder if vampires felt the same euphoria he did when their venom entered his blood.

He knew blood was food, the exclusive diet, of mature vampires. Did it offer the same basic, general satisfaction of a good meal or ... something more reminiscent of crimson fireworks? Or was that only the response when a vampire fed from a ghoul? Nothing in any of the common books answer that question, or the myriad others Fraser had. What _would_ happen to him when Stephanie drank his blood? What would happen to her? Fraser knew she was going through a process of maturation, a process that vampires hid from the human world. In other circumstances, Fraser would be fascinated by this glimpse into another species life cycle. Right now, all he wanted was to get away from Stephanie and her increasingly urgent approaches. What were his legal rights as a ghoul? Surely he had _some_, but without information, he was nearly helpless.

There were other books in the small library down the hall, written in French and locked securely in a beveled glass cabinet. He'd tried to break into it, using the small paring knife he'd stolen from the kitchen, but it was too clumsy a tool for the job. It did no good on the cuff around his wrist, either, and anything more useful was being kept carefully out of his hands. He was clearly a prisoner here, a fact that everyone was politely ignoring.

With his captivity always in mind, Fraser felt no compunction at ignoring the rules of courtesy in favor of regaining his freedom. So, when his attention was drawn from yet another social programing tale thinly disguised as a 'blood romance' by voices in Stephanie's room, he had no problem with moving to stand beside the door and eavesdrop. Mr. Cabot's voice was unforgettable.

" ... scared!" Stephanie was saying. "I need him so much and he _hates_ me!"

Fraser frowned. It wasn't hate he felt, it was ... less than that and, at the same time, he found her rather charming, if young.

Mr. Cabot, in the room beyond, gave a disgusted snort. "He doesn't hate you, my dear. And even if he did - if you'd only bring him to heel, he'd forget his hate soon enough. Let him know your need, Stephanie, let him see you hunger. His blood _will_ answer to you, if only you'd let your blood _call_."

"Yes," Stephanie murmured uncertainly.

"Then what are you waiting for?" her father asked irritably. "Are you ashamed of what you are, to try and hide it? You're days of playing the mortal games are ending, my dear. The promise of your ancestry is to hand - be bold and take it. Take him. Take him and he _will_ be yours and he _will_ be grateful."

Fraser stared down at his clenched fists. He would never be grateful. Some shift in the room next door made him spin and walk stiff legged to his window. When Stephanie came in, he was staring out at the early night, his window cracked open, hoping to hear another song from Diefenbaker.

"Benton," Stephanie said and he turned unwillingly. "Come into my room."

She stood in the doorway, light from the room beyond casting her face into deep shadow while catching bright on her golden hair. She was undeniably attractive but all Fraser could think of was Cabot's voice saying 'bring him to heel'. Fraser cast one last look outside, but the darkness was still. There was no rescue there.

"Don't fight this," she said. "You promised."

"Indeed," Fraser walked to her, spine stiff, muscles aching with hidden tension. "I did."

So, he followed her into her bedroom. It was a modern woman's room; there was an expensive computer against one wall - Fraser's interest sharpened - an assortment of books, several works of art related to horses. What broke Fraser's resistance, though, was the collection, stored on an out of the way shelf, of spun glass horses. They were the sorts of things children collected. They were things that Stephanie Cabot must have collected, as a child and he could not see a monster in her. Fraser looked back to Stephanie, who stood in the middle of her room, and he saw the child she had been and the fear and hope in her eyes. And the hunger. "All right," he swallowed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Lie down," she said huskily. "Unbutton your shirt."

"Ah -" Fraser stared at her bed, unable to imagine himself lying in a woman's bed. Even if she was a vampire.

"It's not what you think," she said impatiently. "Lie _down_."

Best, he thought, to get this over with. What better way to gain her trust than to engage her needs this way? Fraser lay on her blankets - thankfully she seemed uninterested in frill - and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt with stiff fingers. When Stephanie knelt next to him, he flinched. "Are you sure -" Fraser had to stop and clear his throat. "That this cannot be done in a chair?"

Stephanie sighed sharply and bent over him, suddenly blocking out the light. "Do you think you can stop talking for just one minute?"

Fraser clenched his teeth, stiff and unyielding in this woman's bed and lay there knowing she was going to ... going to .... Stephanie touched his chin with cool fingers and suddenly Fraser jerked away. "No!"

He couldn't do this. But Stephanie's fingers were like steel, biting ruthlessly into his flesh, and her knee was on his thigh, pinning him to the bed. She blocked out the soft light from the desk lamp, loomed over him, dark and thin and suddenly, terribly inhuman. Fraser surged up desperately, trying to throw her off, the small hand on his wrist wrenched his arm painfully up and the lightweight body over his was serpent quick. He twisted, struggling to bring up a knee, grunting with effort. She forced his head to one side, Fraser imagined his frantic pulse like a drum, banging away in his throat. He fought under her as Stephanie dipped close, her breath was cool on his skin, raising goosebumps and no one had been this close since Victoria ... since Ray ....

_"God, no!"_

Her bite was cold and bright, flashing like lightening through Fraser and he heard himself crying out wildly - not in pain. He arched against her, not to get away, but to pursue the tide of ecstasy that was rushing through him - through and out - and he could hear his own drumming pulse, racing faster and faster. Stephanie was lax on him now, but he had no impulse to push her off. If he did, this awful, incredible, _consuming_ sensation would stop. Fraser couldn't bear the thought of it ending.

When he came back to himself, Fraser was lying in his own bed with the full moon shining bright on his face. He was alone. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he lay there, languid and weak. He knew, the next time Stephanie called, it would be easier to obey her. Sooner or later, she'd bring him to heel.


End file.
